Colossus
by Chance O'Neal
Summary: They were supposed to come out alive. With a scar inflicted to the Commander's psyche, from the falling of a brother at arms, where does the adrift commander stand? It falls to his crew to hold him together, in light of an unforseen threat. Chapter 3 up.


This is my first Mass Effect Story. I hope this is pleasurable to you all. Reviews, critiques, criticisms which will make me better are all appreciated. Disclaimer: Mass Effect elements are ownership to Bioware and others. Otherwise, this plot is mine. Shepard, by the way, is an Earthborn, Ruthless, Paragon.

Chapter 1: Flight of the Archangel

_The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. ~Mark Twain_

The memories turned haphazardly inside the commander's head. Everything which had transpired, everything which they, his crew, and he had endured…his mind was still trying to piece it all together. Emotion, instinct, conditioned with soldier-bred calculation, these had prevented him from truly analyzing the mission while they had functioned in it. Part of the reason was it was adaptable, he knew. Whenever you got a gun and a crew of living beings behind you, their lives' continuance entirely dependent on the decisions you make, you try not to over think. You cannot afford to be indecisive. You must remain in control as best as you can, for as long as you can, and hope that, whatever happens, you are able to live with the consequences of your actions.

Consequences don't have a use in the heat of battle. The only future one has to concern himself with is the very next moment. Inside that hellhole of metal and flying red death, the next moment was never guaranteed.

John Shepard, the Butcher of Torfan, knew this. This was not the first time he had stepped into this 'Zone'. Torfan knew this, and he did not consider the consequences of his actions until there were no more batarians to kill. It was not until Major Kyle abdicated his position, that the batarians called him a monster to hush their children into bed, that the Citadel races came to both fear and respect his face and reputation, that John Shepard realized the implications of losing control. He survived that day by losing control and killing everything. He morphed into a villain by losing control and killing everything, and only when he saved the Council did a smidgeon of that fear die.

Perhaps it did not matter.

The memories were still shifting inside his brain. Long ago he had given the order to Joker, telling him to return to the Citadel post-haste. What had happened in between then-between entering the Omega-4 relay and telling Joker to leave-was transforming into an alcohol-lubricated blur.

All he asked was to be left to himself for a while. Joker had nodded, his normally wry smile more strained at the outcome.

He could not face Tali. Not right now. He had given only a single order, to Miranda. That she had the deck until further notice.

"Why?"

Shepard ran through his head as best as he could what had happened. Nil returned to him. Despite his desire, the alcohol in his system and the still pent-up emotions were not allowing him to formulate everything. They had won. So why did it feel so bad?

He looked at the laptop, dull, blank, the eyes still worn by the alcohol. He looked next to it, seeing something meant to jar his memories. Three photographs, each taken when Shepard had expected to die shortly.

The first was a twenty-five year old Shepard, his Alliance-regulated armor covered in debris. His helmet had been blown off by a batarian scout early in the fight. He remembered being scared shitlessly when that happened, and everything else changed. All he could see for a brief while was batarian faces or human faces, nothing else. In the picture, he stood with an assault rifle in hand, a grim, taut look on his jaw, and far-away eyes, as if he had just been shaken from a dream. Behind him was a flag of the Alliance, burned at the corner and smeared with blood.

The second picture was taken before two years ago, before Shepard had ventured to Virmire. The crew had finished quelling the quandaries of Therum, Feros, and Noveria, leading them closer to their collective nemesis of Saren. With the location of Saren solidified to Virmire, the end had been suspected. At this, Ashley had suggested that they take a photo while at the Citadel, as a way of commemorating the end. The ground crew stood in the photograph, in what would be the last time before fate truly threw everyone a curve ball. Shepard stood in the middle, grim-faced but with an enviable confidence. To his left stood Dr. Liara T'Soni, her sheepishness and confusion of human culture apparent on her face. To Liara's left was Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko, who also seemed a little photophobic, but took it as best as he militarily could. Urdnot Wrex, complaining about the uselessness of taking a picture before they 'had Saren's head', sulked off to the side, his arms folded and his ever-trusty shotgun in his reptilian hands. The krogan battlemaster didn't even look at the camera. On the other end, Garrus Vakarian stood proudly and dignified, his sniper rifle held with a commendable respect. Ashley Williams stood on Garrus's left, her face smiling despite her apparent bias against aliens. Lastly, Tali'Zorah vas Rayna was sandwiched between Commander Shepard and Gunnery Chief Williams, her body language indicating a bit of the fluster as she was close to the (at the time) oblivious Shepard. The Citadel tower had loomed in the background, as if hallmarking a hidden message. These seven, the photograph said, are the defenders of the Citadel and the galaxy. Let any that wishes turmoil come, if they dare.

Shepard bitterly chuckled at the irony. They had taken this picture because they thought the end was near. In a way, they were right, but in the wrong fashion. Everyone had received a copy. In a way it had become a relic. Now the seven could never be whole again. Wrex had left to unite the krogan under clan Urdnot. Kaiden had prospered in the Alliance, recently becoming a full-fledged commander (Cerberus had even found out he was being considered as the second human Spectre, for his deeds in the hunt for Saren). Ashley, however, was killed in combat, arming the nuke and going up in flames with Saren's base. She had received the Silver Dagger and the Nova Cluster medals on her coffin for that. Garrus had disappeared, eventually transforming into the dark persona Archangel, to which Shepard had pulled him out. Liara had also transformed, going from the innocent scientist naïve to the workings of the world to an almost perverse mockery. Tali had turned out the best of the lot…she had changed very little, and yet she had endured enough from the associations.

Shepard turned his eyes to the last picture. This one was made under the same pretense, though it had been Joker who made the recommendation (whether he had meant it in jest or if indeed he was being serious). Dr. Mordin seconded that some commemoration be taken, since chances were that not everyone would come back alive. Surprisingly, Thane supported the option, stating that, in the likelihood of his demise, he would like to be able to give something to his son. As such, with much haranguing, arguing, statements of silliness, and eventually Shepard having to put his boot down, they managed to find a place which the lot could do so.

The location was relatively unexpected-No one asked why Shepard had chosen Omega, but give how close it was to their destination, people suspected the symbolism. They had stood outside of the bar, the entire ground team. If the first photograph on the Citadel suggested diversity, then the second one outright screamed it. Shepard stood in the middle, the epicenter, the nexus for them all, his lightly-bearded face curling in a slight smile. To his right was Jacob and Miranda, the former looking pumped while the latter had the air of a schemer, perfection radiating off of her body. Next to Miranda stood Mordin, his arms fiddling together as he appeared pleasing for the camera. Grunt lumbered behind the salarian, his face a leering contrast to the kindly professor. Lastly, the sociopath Jack skulked at the edge, giving a look that most certainly would eliminate any sort of ravishment. On the other end of the picture, Legion stood stolidly, somewhat out of place (being a geth), but otherwise facing the camera in a curious look. Samara and Thane stood next to Legion's right, bearing the look of mysticism and wisdom in the body language, as if only they realized the complications of the mission. Garrus, his face and armor horrendously scarred, stood proudly as he did before, his sniper rifle as ever his arm. Tali again remained close to Shepard, this time on his left. It had been later, voiced by Garrus, when he noticed that Tali had not been looking at the camera, but at Shepard himself.

He had laughed. Indeed, it hadn't been until several missions that he picked up on the matter-not just picking up on it, but legitimately becoming enamored in the process. He had supposed that had been one way to start a suicide mission: waking up to the sight of a sleeping quarian.

But now…

He should be happy. They had survived.

Mostly. Mordin had sustained a gruesome bullet wound, but he was able to be patched up. Everyone else had received their fair share of bruises, cuts, and punctures. Jack had perhaps been the second worse, getting shot in the leg when holding the line. But that did not compare…

Shepard closed his eyes. The alcohol-haze that had subdued his memories came back in full force.

_His footing broke. The platform shifted violently. He saw Tali sliding on the side, the platform being carried dragged down by the weight of the dying human-Reaper. _

_Instinct took over. The Butcher returned. Without though he called out her name, and jumped after her, five-fingered hand reaching for her three-fingered. For a moment they clasp together. Then the next, hers slips out. Gravity grabs her away, sliding, sliding…_

_Her body falls off the platform. Shepard jumps forward, grabbing her hand at the last moment. _

_For a second, maybe longer, they remain in that juxtaposition. Tali'Zorah vas Normandy hangs onto his grip, the only thing keeping her alive from fiery, certain death. Shepard remembers shouting something, but he cannot remember the words. He pulls her up, as he briefly glances at the metallic behemoth below, blowing into fragments. _

_The ensuing explosion undoes their work. The platform is jostled, unbalanced from one side to the other. Shepard and Tali roll uncontrollably down to the other side. Eventually, and fortunately, the platform realigns with another, regaining stability. He looks up. Garrus is talking, his mandible twitching. _

_Then brief unconsciousness. Blackness. Adrenaline works harder. The platform remains stable. He is not quite dead yet. He raises himself up from the rubble. Shepard looks. Tali's body submerged by a massive beam. He runs, rouses her…thankful that the beam had not crushed her. Garrus is up as well._

_His eyes widen. He points, and then does the universal call to retreat._

_Shepard looks behind him. Seeker Swarms. He muttered a curse. _

_And so they ran through the Collector Base, having been set for total annihilation earlier. Adrenaline pushed his chiseled body forward. In front of him, Tali and Garrus made tracks. Behind him, the paralyzing seeker swarms whistled his death. _

_He remembered seeing the Normandy. He remembered the door opening, and a cantankerous Joker holding an assault rifle as big as him, firing as best as his bones would allow. Garrus and Tali jumped into the ship, sanctuary at their soles. Then…the platforms in front of Shepard were destroyed. _

_The Butcher of Torfan had no time for alternative plans. He merely leapt the distance._

_For a moment, it was as if an angel had grasped him under his arms. He could see Tali's eyes widened with fear. He could see Garrus's face twist in anxiety. _

_His arms dropped on the deck. Briefly, his arms held, scrambling for a hold. There was none. The lower half of his body began to fall back into the abyss behind him._

_A pair of arms grabbed one of his. One had talons. The other had three-fingers. Shepard allowed a sign of relief. _

_He remembered a voice, above the din of the rampant fire. It was his own._

_"Joker! Get this bird off this base NOW!"_

_"Aye, Commander!" _

_"John, just hold on!" Tali's voice. Synthesized, straining from pulling him up. Her body was lowered, as Collectors were still shooting at them._

_"Shepard." Garrus had laughed. Perhaps he needed to lower his intensity. "Just like old times. I'll make sure we get home, even if it kills me."_

_Those words took an almost devilish tone._

_He heard a bullet whiz past his ear. It missed him. He left Tali strain suddenly, as if Garrus had stopped pulling on him. Shepard looked up._

_Garrus held a talon close to his chest. Said talon was being steadily painted in turian blood. Then he shrugged it off, and grabbed Shepard's arm, tugging with as much strength as his weakening body would permit. He felt two more bullets pass. He felt Garrus struggle, whip back as his body received the bullets. A fourth one penetrated his body, square in the middle of his body. His eyes turned glassy almost, but he pushed Shepard onto the deck._

_Shepard stumbled into the ship, assisted by a bullet that finally struck him in his leg. Garrus, looked dazed, his mandibles flared, as he stumbled. He looked like he was saying something. His breathing came out haggard. _

_Then, a fifth bullet penetrated his body. He lost his footing and his vitality. Turian eyes shifted to darkness, as if seeing not Shepard and Tali but a religious beyond The turian equivalent to the white light at the end of the tunnel. Then, with the door open behind him…he plummeted into the Abyss._

_Shepard immediately jumped to the door to rescue his friend. In the end, he was stopped on two fronts. One of his legs was shrieking in paralyzing agony from his bullet wound. His waist was firmly held by Tali, her synthesized voice a medley of sadness and fear. He did not remember the word, spoken either by him in stark rage or her in sorrow. He could remember Tali shaking beside him._

_He leaned onto the wall, sliding down. Behind him, blood smeared on the metallic wall, a mixture of turian and human.. Shepard heard footsteps. He felt Tali sobbing beside him. Jacob's voice hit him next, yelling 'Somebody get a fucking medic here! Somebody get Chakwas! Fuck!" Another pair of footsteps, quieter this time. Thane. Chakwas. Miranda. They all entered his view briefly in a flurry of action. Thane rushed and shut the hull door, keeping the storm of laser death outside. Chakwas articulated incoherently, diagnosing him while ordering Jacob to get Shepard up and to the med-bay. Jacob forcefully pulled a distraught Tali from the Commander, hoisting the Butcher of Torfan onto his shoulder. As he was carried, he saw Miranda and Thane tending to Tali, leading her away from the hull._

_The door remained shut, dismissing any miracles that might suggest the return of an archangel._

Professionalism, understandably, flew right out the window as soon as Shepard was cleared to walk. It was a mistake to assume that the Butcher of Torfan was so callous that he would not take a death of any soldier under his command personally. If it had been Grunt, or Jack, or Jacob, or Miranda, or any of the others, he would have lamented their deaths equally.

Garrus Vakarian had been something more. With the exception of Tali, Joker, and Chawkas, he was the only one among the crew that had stood with Shepard against Saren. One could have said that he was a close to a brother as Shepard had had. Brother-at-arms, blood brother…there were bonds forged between those that fought and died together in a hailstorm of iron and light. To lose one that was watching your back…

"Damn it…"

If he had just fallen forward…If Tali had not held him down…

"Damn it…"

Shepard remembered what had happened next. Jacob had been the unfortunate soul to receive it on the end of his chin. It had taken Miranda herself to step in, and she had 'requested' that Shepard calm down. They had already passed through the Omega-4 Relay at that time. He gave her the order that she had the deck, and left it there.

Hard to believe it was several hours ago.

"DAMN IT!"

Fury truly befitting of the Butcher of Torfan erupted finally. His hand hurled his glass of gin across the room, shattering as it hit the side of the wall. The alcohol wasn't working.

Casualties happen. Marines die. That's what they're there for. Everyone knew that death was likely, that everyone coming out of it alive was marked as an act of God. And yet…everyone did survive. Right until then.

A knocking interrupted his alcohol-induced treatment. He didn't answer at first. Then again.

"Come in." He quietly said. He did not turn to see whom was visiting him. He merely kept his eyes on the picture below.

"Commander." Miranda's voice answered him. "I don't think showing you're a drunk to the Illusive Man would help us much."

Shepard did not answer. Words seemed to have lost their flavor in the deluge of his alcohol.

"Commander, do you really think that was wise of you? If the quarian wasn't there…answer me this-if you hadn't been held down, would you have jumped after him?"

Again Shepard was quiet. He kept his eyes away.

"Shepard…I have read the dossiers on what you have gone through with your original team. But we still need a leader. The Reapers are still out there. There are people counting on you now, just as we did when you lead us into the Collectors base." Miranda gave a laugh. "I think you can appreciate the irony. You survive conditions and situations that only one in a thousand can survive, and yet you fall to the bottle."

Shepard's chair was forcibly turned around. Miranda's eyes pierced his dark blues, her hand grabbing the bottle out of his own.

"Garrus's death is not your mistake. He made a decision to save your life. In exchange, he sacrificed himself. No one can predict what happens in battle. Even the most cautious end up making mistakes. What would he think now if he saw you like this?"

The challenge slapped him worse than any physical strike. But it did wake him up.

She jerked the bottle out of his hands. He offered minimal resistance, still in a daze over the events. "I think I'll ask Grunt to hide your 'store' until you get over this. I understand you need to grieve. But do not do it when your crew needs you…" Her eyes closed, the cogs of perfection toiling and turning, forming a newer tact of diplomacy. "Do you have a destination in mind, commander? We are floating in deep space as we speak."

"…Citadel." Shepard remarked, merely saying the first word that came to his head.

"Affirmed, commander." Miranda stated, confidence returning. "I will send Grunt up in an hour if you aren't on deck by then. What would we say if the Butcher of Torfan-"

"Miranda. You still have the deck. Go. And if you send Grunt in here, I'm going to send his teeth back to you in a plastic bag."

Miranda smiled at his threat. Apparently she

"Oh, one other thing…Ms. Vas Normandy would probably want to speak with you."

The genetic epitome of perfection left Shepard at that.

"Damn."

He didn't know how he could face Tali. If what Miranda had said was true, could he still face the crew?

He remembered another memory, one when he was just a leader of two men, and had merely been asked by an Asari to tend to a matter.

_"Is this how you want to be remembered, general?" _

_"No. Personally, I'd rather not be remembered at all, but I see your point. So, you think its that easy? Just stand up straight and act like a general?"_

_"It wouldn't kill you to try," Garrus remarked from the side._

_"Ha. Well, Maybe you're right, commander. Sha'ira is certainly worth it. Hmph. Even if she won't have me back."_

_"This is no place for someone of your stature, General."_

_The General steeled himself. After a few minutes haggling, he raised his glass._

_"Well. Here's to soldiers, acting like soldier. You know Commander, you might make a good general yourself one day."_

Septimus had endured many more horrors than Shepard had, but he had found a way to resolve it. Perhaps Miranda was right. He needed to straighten up and act like a soldier.

A knock on the door. He looked at the clock. It hadn't even been ten minutes.

"Shepard."

Synthesized noise weaved together to form a poem of words. A smile entered his lips for the first time that day.

"Come in."

He did not turn to look at her. Instead, he studied the pictures, but he could feel Tali nearing him. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, her visor resting in his neck.

"I'm sorry," She responded. It occurred to him that she had probably been sobbing. Garrus had been as much of a friend her as he was to him. "I'm sorry. I know you're upset, and I saw Garrus falling, and I felt you jumping to save-"

"Tali. You have nothing to be sorry about," Shepard said quietly. His arm reached up, holding Tali's head, as he turned to meet her eyes. "I'm the one that should be sorry. I forced you to make that choice."

"…you were going to-"

"I would've done the same if it was you, Tali. If it was anyone."

Tali looked drained, in her body language if nothing else. She turned the chair to face him, before pressing herself onto him, arms embracing. They were grateful and guilty at the same time. Grateful that they had survived, that they had saved each other at one point in the day. Guilty that one of their closest friends died for that to occur.

"…So…what now?" Tali asked.

"The Citadel. And a funeral. Garrus deserves it. Even if we couldn't get his body."

"Yes. He deserves that. John?"

"Yes?"

"What about the Reapers?"

"…We'll find something. I have to talk with the Illusive Man. And the Council."

"I'm feeling what you have to say isn't going to be good."

"I don't think I need to explain to the Illusive Man whether I'm standing with him or not." The explosion had been enough. "The Citadel may have some leads for the Reapers, so we'll start there. But…I think some shore leave is in order. The crew just went through hell in a bottle."

"John…come with me…" Tali took his hand, lifting him up. Her body language fidgeted, as if more nervous of what was coming. "Um, I, uh, know what last night was like…I have a nasty fever, and I cannot even describe what's in my sinuses, but it was _totally _worth it. I don't, uh…know how this would appear to the crew if…for tonight, I mean-"

"Tali. Are you saying you want to bunk with me?"

"No! Uh, well, I-yes. I do. Just…"

"Its fine. There's always shore leave. Just, give me a moment. I need to meet with Miranda."

He had no intention of sleeping with her at this time. In that respect he had listened to Mordin, and quite simply he was too damn drained to deal with it at this moment. Instead, he retreated to the shower, hoping that the waters would wash some of the guilt away from him.

At the moment, peace was lacking. He would have to tell Miranda not to send Grunt up. Appear to the crew to assuage their minds. Let them know that the Butcher of Torfan was not defeated, even if his friend was destroyed.

The Reapers would not rest. Neither could he.

"Are you coming Tali?"

"Oh! Yes! Hold on a second!"

He looked, his eyes tearing through the void of time. For a moment it was like he was back in the old _Normandy_, in the engine room with Tali, her youthful enthusiasm infecting him and the crew. Then he was back in the presence, with the beautiful quarian mechanist standing, waiting patiently for him in his quarters. Awaiting the ascendance of the captain, the savior of the Citadel.

Garrus would want him to move forward. To continue in his stead.

"Come on, Tali. Time to meet with the Illusive Man."

He took her hand in his, three-fingers interlacing with five. He would finish it all…even if he moved alone. But now…was he really alone? No. Shepard denied that. The young woman beside her erased all doubt. He would grieve Garrus still.

But he would not grieve alone.


End file.
